Redemption: Soothing an Artist, Healing a Picture
by Kittendragon
Summary: This is a fiction inspired by Carmilla's "Corruption". I would strongly suggest reading that, first.SLASH. Dorian/Basil with a beginning that contains Dorian/Lord Henry. And, yes of course, I've read more audio-booked Oscar Wilde's original piece.Enjoy.
1. Punishment

AN/Disclaimer: Oscar Wilde was a genius…He was also male. I am neither (Though I enjoy being a woman and my intellect is nothing to sneeze at, thank you). Don't sue, but do review.

Find a typo? Point it out.

This was obviously inspired by "The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde, and also by Carmilla's "Corruption". I suggest you read that fine piece of work, first.

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Dorian watches Basil leave out of the corner of his eye; his lips still pressed all the while to Lord Henry's.

'This is punishment, Basil,' Dorian thinks, though the punishment is not for the artist himself.

No, it is for Lord Henry. This kiss is for the man who constantly crushes Dorian's dear, sensitive artist with his laissez-faire remarks on life and his cruel, thoughtless words. This subtly passive-aggressive press of lips is for every comment on the uselessness of art, and for every time that Lord Henry manages to extinguish the light in Basil's eyes _just that much more_.

Dorian knows. Oh, yes, the beautiful youth _knows_ of _Dear Harry's_ jealously. He can feel his friend's deep-seated discontent that, though he can play the critic until the end of days, he will never _be_ the artist, the musician, the talent that he so enjoys degrading with his clever phrases and sardonic smiles. He feels it in the touch of Henry's hand on his skin, the exhalation of his breath on his cheek, the very heat of his gaze. He knows that Henry has at once desired and detested the artist and his humble nature. Dorian understands why Lord Henry chooses to pick on Basil and encourage his low self-worth; understands, but does _not_ condone.

No, this kiss that poor Basil must assume is one of fondness is anything but fond.

It is not that Dorian does not like Lord Henry, or that he does not find the older man entertaining. It is simply that Dorian feels that there should be at least one thing, one person in this world, that Henry should be forced to leave alone. Someone should be spared from his world view, and if it can't be Dorian himself, then the youth feels that it must be the person most precious to him. Dorian will _force _the cruelty of the man's tongue back into Lord Henry's mouth. He will use this kiss to _drive_ every careless word meant for Basil back from whence it came.

'Poor Basil," Dorian thinks as he expertly bends an increasingly alarmed Lord Henry to his will. His fingers first carding through, and then clutching at the dark hair; it won't take much longer to get his point across. Henry's sounds are becoming frantic, and Dorian will not risk their volume escalating to a level that will call the artist or his servants back.

He hopes that Basil will forgive him this one kiss. He secretly promises, in his heart of hearts, that this will be the only kiss that does not belong to the artist. He almost laughs, realizing that this kiss _already_ belongs to Basil because it is _for his sake_ that he has initiated it. At least he will never have to confess to something that Basil has already seen.

He finally breaks the kiss, and looks at his uncomprehending friend with knowing eyes. Everything that he wants to express he does so with his face. As Lord Henry's fingers fly to his own mouth, and a look of frightened understanding flows into his eyes, Dorian seals his thus-far silent explanation with these simple words:

"He is mine."

And with that, Dorian rises from the bench and flows leisurely down the garden path back to the house.

It takes Lord Henry a good quarter-hour to realize that the beauty is following after the artist, and that he may well have lost both of them in trying to possess both at the same time. He does not know which failed, possible-romance he will mourn more.

His lips tingle with the bruises of his punishment, and he understands his folly… but perhaps it is too late.

When he enters the drawing room, Dorian is already out of sight. He sees himself out, but not before scribbling a message on a scrap of paper and leaving it on the piano.

'_I'm terribly sorry to you both. Forgive me?'_

He will return tomorrow, at an invitation from his dearest friends, and will receive the forgiveness he now craves from both. He will not mention the kiss that was his punishment and his salvation, and he will never again degrade Basil's art or overly-praise Dorian's physical beauty. He knows better, now.


	2. Understanding

It doesn't take long for Dorian to find Basil. In fact, with the exception of a few warning looks and thinly-veiled demands that he 'take care of the master…or else!', the staff seem to have been waiting for Dorian to ask just where the master of the house had got to. He smiles to himself as he trails the butler to Basil's private chambers, already imagining Basil's look of surprise when he finds Dorian in the private part of his house. How scandalous. How wonderful.

Dorian dismisses the servant outside Basil's bedroom, making sure to keep the conversation to their side of the door. He doesn't want to alert Basil to his presence before they can come face-to-face. The look that the butler gives Dorian is an obvious assertion of the man's fondness of the master of the house, and of all the things that might befall Dorian should he hurt the artist.

'As if I could harm him,' Dorian thinks, and then shivers oddly. 'Maybe in another life, but not in this one.'

He draws himself to his full height, making sure to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in his waistcoat and pat down any stray hairs on his head. He refuses to enter Basil's private domain with any lingering evidence of what has transpired in the garden. They will come to that when the time is right, but it is not the main topic that Dorian wishes to address; or start with, for that matter. After a last mental once-over, Dorian raises his fist to rap gently on the heavy wooden door.

He hears a shuffle, and something suspiciously like a suppressed sniffle, from the other side of the door. His heart contracts a little, imagining Basil dabbing at moist eyes with his beautiful fingers. After a few seconds the movement stops, but the door remains closed. Dorian knocks, again.

"I'm not receiving any more visitors tonight. If it is a matter of the house, I'm sure that you are all capable of handling it without me until morning."

Dorian almost laughs to think that Basil believes him to be one of the staff. He knocks again, just as softly.

"I wish to be left alone," Is the slightly stronger murmur from the other side.

'Not strong enough, Basil. Give me a little more fire,' Dorian thinks, thrilling slightly at the thought of Basil becoming firm and agitated. He is determined to pull the artist out of himself. He wants the passion that he just _knows_ the artist possesses. It is what gives Basil his talent for painting, and what gives him his conviction… when he deems to convey it in words. He raps once more, hoping to get a rise. He is not disappointed.

There is a frustrated groan that makes Dorian's arms physically ache to have Basil in them, soothing the artist as Dorian is sure only _he_ can. The sound of sheets rustling and feet hurriedly shuffling across carpet and hardwood flooring reaches Dorian before the door is flung open. For a moment Dorian sees Basil in all of his angry glory: eyes wide and mad, lips parted in reproach, teeth clinched and face flushed. Dorian has never wanted to kiss anyone's lips so much in his life as much as he wants to kiss Basil's right now. He restrains himself, just barely.

After a moment's pause, is which both men simply stare at each other, Basil's eyes begin to widen even more. His face becomes slack in surprise, and the flush on his cheeks darkens from an angry pink to an embarrassed rouge. His mouth goes slack and then snaps closed, and a strangled sort of half-whimper escapes the back of his throat.

"Dorian!" Basil cries, faintly. He does not even realize that the doorknob is still clutched tightly in his right hand, or that he is standing before the younger man in naught but a long nightshirt.

"That _is_ my Christian name, Basil," Dorian replies, a charming half smile playing across his lips. He tries to keep his gaze decent, for Basil's sake.

Basil seems to realize in that moment that he is not fit to receive visitors. His face, much to Dorian's worry, flushes even more. Dorian begins to wonder if he should prepare for the artist to faint, what with all that blood rushing to his head, and then Basil becomes a whirl of motion. He tries to tug at his nightshirt frantically, and then in his panic he slams the door in Dorian's face. Not two seconds later, he throws the door back open.

"I'm so sorry, Dorian! I'll just…I'm just going to…hold on!"

Dorian tries, again for the artist's sake, not to burst into a fit of laughter at the bit of slapstick taking place before his very eyes. It seems to him that Basil cannot decide if it would be better for him to spend his night apologizing to Dorian for his state of undress, shut the door and _fix_ his state of undress, or simply open and close the door in Dorian's face all night and while trying to do a combination of the afore mentioned options. Dorian decides to take pity on his flustered friend.

"Basil," He says in a calming tone, his hand bracing the door from becoming reacquainted with the air just inches from his nose. "Why don't you dress, and then invite me in? You can apologize after you've calmed down enough to finish a proper sentence."

Basil deflates visibly, and for a moment looks like a young boy in too big pajamas. He smiles gratefully at Dorian, and nods. Dorian smiles back, murmurs "Alright," and slowly closes the door. He then backs up to lean against the opposite wall of the hallway, and settles there to wait for his friend to change.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"Dorian," He hears Basil call, and he enters the private room. He wonders if Basil realizes that he's just allowed him into an improper room of the house for visitors. Again, he suppresses a laugh, and pats himself on the back for his own cunning. This is playing out even better than he had originally planned. His smugness is cut short when he gets a good look at Basil.

Now that the other man is no longer blushing, the pinkness of his eyes is in stark contrast to his pale, English complexion. Dorian remembers the sniffle he heard when he first knocked, and knocks himself in the head, mentally, for forgetting that Basil has born witness to the kiss downstairs. The poor man must be heartbroken.

Dorian becomes serious. He is playing for keeps, and he refuses to let his pride ruin this crucial moment in time. He hadn't wanted to address the garden scene so early, but he realizes that it is the only way to get Basil to see him clearly.

"Basil," He begins, his voice as serious as the expression on his beautiful countenance. "I know what you saw."

"Oh Dorian, please don't…" Basil starts to plead, his own face crumpling in anguish. He sags into a chair at a writing desk near the bed.

"No, Basil. Listen to me. I know what you saw, _and _I know what you _didn't _see."

Basil is a smart man, and Dorian is not disappointed when he takes the bait; however reluctantly he does so. After a pause, Basil sighs and says what Dorian wants him to.

"Alright, Dorian, what '_didn't_ I see'?"

"That it wasn't a kiss."

Basil represses the urge to snort, but Dorian catches his disbelief in the momentary downward twitch of his lips.

"Oh it wasn't, was it? I don't know what the definition of a 'kiss' is in your books, but in mine the press of lips to almost any surface is a kiss. _Two_ pairs of lips pressing together _definitely_ fits the accepted definition."

Dorian can see that Basil is trying to be detached and clinical about the whole affair, but the glistening in his eyes gives him away. He is an artist at heart, passionate and filled with empathy and emotion, and Dorian wants to _love _him for it. If only Basil would let him.

"It wasn't a kiss," Dorian reiterates in the same, calm tone. He doesn't want to sound bored, but he doesn't want to seem engaged in the memory of the kiss, either. "It was a warning, a punishment, if you will. Lord Henry will not bother you again."

"What? Dorian, what did you do? How can any kiss be a warning? Punishment, you say? For what?! For not kissing you sooner!?" Basil's voice is rising in volume as well as pitch, and his body thrums in the chair as if he might fling himself out of it at any moment. Dorian sits and bears Basil's anger, all the while watching him closely and waiting for an opportune moment to make Basil understand. If he can convey his point to Lord Henry with a kiss and three words, alone, then he is sure that he can get Basil to see things his way…but he will have to use a different approach then the one with Lord Henry or Basil will accuse him of having cheap kisses. That wouldn't do.

"Basil!" He barks, and realizes in the back of his mind that he's said the artist's name more often tonight than he probably ever has, before. "Stop it! Right now!"

He crosses the distance between them and hauls Basil out of his chair, holding the other man close to him by his shirt and waistcoat. He wonders, absently, why Basil dressed so thoroughly just to have a late evening conversation in his own bedchamber. He takes a deep breath and loosens his hold, but does not let Basil go. For his own part, Basil is too shocked by the sudden movement to even try struggling out of Dorian's, now gentle, grip.

"I've seen the way he looks at you. I've heard, firsthand, the things he says to you. You think I don't see the hurt in your eyes when he degrades you, mocks you. I know that he once fancied you, and I don't like it."

"I'm sorr…"

"No! I am _not _saying that I dislike like your preferences, but that I do not like his attention. He does not handle you correctly, and then he abuses you when you rebuff him. I know you play dumb to his advances. I've seen you shy away from his casually wandering hands and suggestive looks. Now he won't come after you, anymore. That '_kiss'_ was a warning to leave you alone. I showed him what it might be like to have to surrender to another's wants. He can't do it. He is too shallow to give to another, and too frightened to face true passion. He mocks what he doesn't understand and harries what he cannot have."

Dorian throws his arms up into the air, and begins pacing the room. Basil watches him with wide eyes.

"I am sick of watching the light go out of your eyes when you look for approval and he gives you reproach. And then, to try and take _me_ from _you_! As if he could simply draw my attention with clever words! You of all people should know that I need more substance than mere promises and witty whispers. Oh, Basil."

Dorian stops and turns back to the stunned artist. Basil has slumped back into his chair, and Dorian comes to kneel in front of him, taking both of his hands in his own.

"Don't you know how much I adore you?" Dorian sighs, his eyes entreating as he gazes up into the dark pair above him.

"Dorian, please. Don't mock me," Basil begs, gently trying to pull his hands out of Dorian's grasp. Dorian refuses to release them and kisses the top of each one, ceasing Basil's weak struggle with his soft lips. "Was that punishment for me, then?"

Dorian's eyes grow wide, and he pushes himself up onto his knees; coming closer to Basil's face.

"No! No, Basil. My kisses are not meant as any kind of punishment for you. Never for you," And, again, he kissed the hands in his grasp. Basil begins to shake. "I tried so hard to get you to admit your feelings for me. I came by every day. I played the piano for you whenever you asked. I sat for you for days on end, just hoping you'd see my care for you in the reflection of my eyes on paper. I even walked, arm in arm, down a public street with you! I once tried to kiss your hand as I watched you paint a landscape."

"But that was accidental!" Basil murmurs in disbelief. Has this really been staring him in the face, the whole time?

"No, Basil. I was trying to act nonchalant. I wanted to know what your reaction would be. When you didn't even mention it, I thought my adoration was sadly one-sided. I have to thank Lord Henry for something, because I was too shy to approach you before him. He's the one who told me to confront you one your 'adoration' of me, even if he was trying to create a rift between us at the time. My wonderful Basil, I've wanted you from the moment I saw you at that horridly boring party."

Basil cannot help but let out a small chuckle at the description of said party; Dorian's lips quirk upwards in response.

"Dorian," Basil sighs, gently reclaiming one of his hands in order to stroke Dorian's beautifully fine, thick hair. "My dearest Dorian."

And in the next moment, Dorian has propelled himself forward and flung his arms around the man in the chair, burying his face in his crisp, white shirt.

"Your Dorian," Is the joyful, if muffled reply that reverberates throughout his chest.

Basil overcomes his momentary shock, and quickly wraps his own arms around the young man's back, pulling him impossibly closer. He brushes his cheek against Dorian's hair, encouraging the youth to look up at him. After a short searching of Dorian's face, Basil smiles and bestows a gentle kiss to the rose colored lips before him. He can feel a smile answering his own in the perfect press of their lips as they share this first kiss.

"My Dorian," He murmurs once again, raining gentle kisses on the beautiful face and hair before him.

"Yes," Dorian replies, placing his ear against Basil's chest and thrilling at the feel of Basil's strongly beating heart against his cheek. "Your Dorian."


	3. Devotion

Dorian leaves Basil's with a promise to return on the morrow and a kiss. He dearly wants to stay, but Basil insists that they try and keep up proper appearances. It would be unseemly for Dorian to stay in another man's home when he already has a house in the same town.

"I won't tarnish your reputation, Dorian," Basil insists as he stands to see Dorian out of his private bedroom.

"Bother my reputation, Basil! It's you I want. Why won't you let me stay the night with you? The staff already knows I'm here, and Lord Henry won't breathe a word about us. I'm sure of it. I can't bear the thought of our parting so soon. Please, Basil, for the sake of a good night's sleep for your dear sitter, if nothing else?" Dorian tries to beseech Basil, even as he follows the artist obediently to his chamber door. Basil turns and regards him with fond, if a little bewildered, eyes.

"What has staying with me got to do with your sleep? I'm sure you've slept just fine almost every night before this one, and I can't see how my presence could improve your repose if you _do_ happen to sleep poorly."

"Oh, I just _know_ I'll sleep wretchedly without you, Basil. A heart never rests well when it is away from its home. I fear I'll have to leave it beating in your chest until I return."

"Dorian, you flatter me too much…"

"I'm not trying to flatter you. I'm telling you truths that I now feel pressed to express, given the correct audience. I know you adore me, and you know I adore you." Dorian takes a hold of one of Basil's hands and presses it between his own like a prayer. "Please, Basil. Let me stay. Just to hold you. Please?"

Dorian places Basil's hand above his heart, and holds it there with both hands as his eyes plead with Basil's. Basil wonders where the young man who had so boldly kissed Lord Henry, and then come confidently into his private upper rooms had gone. A mere boy stands in his place now, and Basil can see in his eyes all the hope of a child begging something they most dearly want. He feels horrible having to deny this beautiful youth what he wants, but to protect Dorian's reputation he has to be stern. Dorian's brows begin to crease, and a look of pain comes over his face. Basil can tell that the man has seen his decision in his eyes. Dorian presses Basil's hand closer to his chest and takes a shuddering breath, readying himself for the rejection. Basil has a sudden idea.

"Dorian, I cannot allow you to stay _tonight_," He starts, and then plows on when Dorian's grip begins to loosen on his captive hand. "But I think I might have something that will help you sleep, at least until the day that I _do_ allow you to stay."

Dorian eyes begin to glow with new hope.

"You'll let me stay…?"

"Yes, but not tonight. Now, get your overcoat and meet me in the drawing room in a few minutes. Don't look at me like that, Dorian. I cannot bear your wounded looks very well, and I'm determined to watch out for you even when you refuse to watch out for yourself. Now, go on."

And with that, Basil sends the beauty out of his bedroom with a kiss to that smooth forehead and a gentle smile. Dorian returns his smile and hurries down the steps.

-----

As promised, Basil comes down the steps and into the drawing room only a few minutes after Dorian has retrieved his coat and settled on the piano stool. The artist carries what looks like a folded piece of cloth, and Dorian wonders what it could be concealing that will help him sleep away from Basil. He sits a little straighter when Basil approaches him.

"Dorian," Basil pulls up a small ataman and sits down very closely to Dorian. "I see you already have your coat on. Good. What I hold here might help you sleep, or may just make you laugh at my sentimentalities."

With an uncertain smile, Basil gently unfolds the cloth in his hands. Dorian finds himself leaning forward in curiosity, and is surprised to find that the cloth is simply a waistcoat with nothing hidden in its folds. The coat is made of a soft, silk material in the traditional black of society's elite. The buttons are smooth and flat, and Dorian can tell that this piece of clothing was tailored specifically for Basil. For some reason, that thought makes him smile; it is not uncommon to have tailor-made clothes, but the fact that it was for Basil is oddly heartwarming. Dorian thinks that more things should be just for the artist alone.

He almost rolls his eyes at himself not a moment later for his inherent twee thoughts.

"This is one of my favorite waistcoats. You may not remember, but I wore it just yesterday to that opera you insisted I attend with you and Lord Henry."

"I think I've seen you wear it once or twice, yes. But what has this got to do with my getting a good night's sleep? Can't I just stay?"

"Oh Dorian, don't look at me like that again. I've made up my mind, and I don't want my last thought of you tonight being of a 'brokenhearted' Dorian instead of a 'happy' Dorian. Please, just hear me out?"

Dorian drops his pretence, and nods to Basil. He leans forward and rests his hand on Basil's knee in a silent apology; Basil smiles at him and accepts.

"As I was saying, this waistcoat is one of my favorites and as such I wear it (and have it washed) often. Now this may seem like an odd question, but does it have my scent?"

Dorian is thoroughly confused, but leans forward to daintily sniff the waistcoat, nevertheless. It does have Basil's sweet and hearty scent, and he nods to Basil as he leans back.

"You wanted to hold me, correct?"

Dorian nods again. He thinks he might understand, and a smile starts to spread across his face at Basil's ingenuity. When men leave for long trips, oftentimes their ladylove will give them a cloth token sprayed with their perfume. Dorian thinks that this waistcoat may be Basil's version of a scarf dusted with perfume. He is not wrong.

"I…I don't know how to say this so," Basil flushes and holds the waistcoat out to Dorian. Dorian voices his thoughts.

"Is this your version of a perfumed scarf, my dear Basil?" Dorian's smile grows wider as Basil's flush deepens. Dorian takes the offering and tucks it under his overcoat. "That's terribly sweet of you," He says as he and Basil stand and head for the front door. "I think I may wrap it around my other pillow tonight, and hold it in your stead."

"Dorian! Don't embarrass me so."

"But, my dear Basil! It is you who has just given _me _the token. Shouldn't I feel embarrassed at receiving such a gift? Mind you, I'm not giving it back until it has lost all vestiges of your cologne and has ceased to smell even faintly like you."

They pause at the door, and Dorian turns to face Basil fully. His face softens and becomes honest and fond. Basil can see almost every secret in Dorian's eyes in that moment, as if the youth were whispering them in his ear just for him to hear. He sees Dorian's devotion and some of his desire, and is struck with just what has transpired this evening. When Dorian is sure that Basil understands, he leans in to lay a loving kiss on that careful mouth.

"Thank you, Basil," Dorian murmurs against the soft lips before pressing one more kiss to them, unable to resist the urge at such a close distance. "Goodnight, my dearest."

"Goodnight, my Dorian. You're more than welcome." Basil murmurs back, finding himself just as unwilling to break the tender press of their mouths. "See you on the morrow."

"Till morning, My Basil," Dorian embraces Basil one last time, whispers "Your Dorian" into the artist's ear, and then passes out of the door and into his carriage.

He does dress his other pillow with the waistcoat when he readies himself for bed, and sleeps curled around it, his face buried against the back, just as he had promised Basil he would.

Both men smile in their sleep.


	4. High Society

Dorian knew, intellectually, that trying to carry on an affair with a _man_ (recluse artist or not) would be near impossible. Society not only frowned upon such a romance, but punished it to the highest degree. Secrecy was not only desired, but born out of the necessity to survive. _High _society made having a secret affair almost impossible.

"What else do these people _do?" _Basil had once exclaimed to Dorian in a fit of peak. "It seems to me they'd rather try to run my artistic business, rather than _run their own blasted companies or countries!"_

Though the complaint had come before "_The Night of the Kiss", _as Dorian now called it (much to Basil's chagrin), Dorian couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. It had only been _three days_! And yet, the questions about Dorian's current love life never seemed to end. He had never had to redirect so many conversations in one sitting as he did in the five social gatherings since The Night. He had almost blown a gasket when one of the Duchesses tried to introduce her niece to Basil in his presence.

"Isn't she lovely, Basil?" The Duchess had asked, batting her eyes in a way that made Dorian think that the Duchess herself would love to marry his Basil in her niece's stead.

"Of course, Duchess," Basil had replied, trying valiantly to appear less flustered. "But what could an artist of my means offer the niece of a Duchess?"

'A lot," Dorian had snipped in his mind, trying to keep his face passive as he watched his artist compliment some little chit with too much powder and an overbearing aunt. He would have felt sorry for the poor girl for being paraded around, if she hadn't been paraded in front of what was his.

He hadn't been able to spend more than a breakfast with his artist since the confession of their feelings for each other, and though Dorian knew that he alone held Basil's regard, he wished they had discussed how they would handle society. Neither of them hinted to a love affair, whether with each other or a female, and they were both trained in redirection and distraction. Dorian knew that discussing their approaches beforehand would have led to the same mode of conduct, but something in him wished for the private time together, if only of affirm his hold on Basil and Basil's hold on him.

When Sunday evening came, and the parties were over for the day (with no plans for Monday, as it began the new week of labor), Dorian took a coach to Basil's home for a late nightcap. When asked his plans, he simply told the truth.

"I had planned to share my after dinner brandy with Basil. I have some affairs I'd like to discuss before the work week begins. You know how it is."

Of course, no one but the artist and his model really _knew how it was_, but letting everyone assume that it was just an evening business meeting cut down on the gossip, and kept them safe from prying eyes.

The carriage pulled up to the stoop of Basil's city home, and Dorian thanked the driver before heading up the steps. He had chosen to take a hired coach instead of his own personal one, not wanted to have the driver wait up for him all night or risk the gossip if someone were to recognize his coach in the middle of the night after calling hours.

He planned to stay, tonight.

AN: Hello! I know that this chapter is SUPER SHORT, but I wanted to get something out there before I headed off for the day. :) YAY COMPUTER ACCESS!


	5. AN AGAIN! Hopefully the last for a while

Author's Note... Again:

Ok. Here is the deal. I'm posting this on all of my stories, as I've had a few PMs/Reviews with the same themes. So, if you're following more than one of my stories, you don't need to check every single one. I've decided to address these PMs/Reviews, all in one fell swoop.

Here are the reasons I've not updated in the last year:

After I posted the last AN, I was promptly whisked off to fill a rather coveted spot on a Masters program in the UK. Yes, I _had_ planned on updating shortly after my AN, but life got ahold of me before I could do so. Heads of Courses have a tendency of doing that.

2. This was an intensive one-year program. I was in from dawn till dusk, all year, and that doesn't count the hours I put in _outside_ of class. After dealing with all kinds of literature day and night, I didn't even want to _look _ at a computer, let alone write.

I've moved countries, twice. Across oceans. Sometimes, people just want to sleep for a week.

I had a _death_ in the family. It was unexpected, and it wasn't pretty. Cancer never is.

And lastly:

I've received a few rather abusive PMs/Reviews about what a horrible person I am that I've put my writing on hiatus to deal with my real life. Abusing me over the internet does _not_ encourage me to continue writing.

I apologize to those of you who've waited patiently for an update on whichever story/ies of mine that you happen to follow. I appreciate the nicer, kinder reviews/PMs that have noted the enjoyment of the stories, and the looking forward to a new chapter. I DO plan to update them. I enjoy every one of my stories, and I do like writing when the mood strikes. I wrote _"Nate's Darling" _ after watching Leverage non-stop for a weekend as a MASSIVE form of stress release. I didn't watch the show with thoughts of a story. I just needed to get away from the Masters for a few hours before I went nuts. And also to avoid someone who was_ driving_ me nuts. TV on? Don't talk. Great avoidance technique. Thankfully, I no longer live with that person.

I can't say when I'll update, as any plans I make to update usually get shot out of the sky by real life.

On a lighter note, I've finished the Masters, and have a bit of spare time at the moment. I _may update_, soon. I do not, and never have, promised anything but a story. Not when, not how.

Here is how I see these stories getting updated:

"_In the Dark..."_ and "_To the Edge..."_ are at the top of my list, as I'm not happy where they're sitting, right now.

"_Nate's Darling" _comes in a close 3rd, as I know what the next few chapters will be, anyway. This might end up being No. 1, as I already have a chapter half finished.

"_I will Always..." _and "_Redemption:..." _will have to wait until I've nailed an update to the top three.

"_Gai gets the Guy" _will stay on hiatus until I find the time and will to update. Again, I don't know when that will be.

I'm sorry if you are one of my loyal readers who just happened to be caught in this. I do love my kind reviewers. I even look forward to them, and do my best to reply to each one personally.

If you're planning on ranting at me about how I haven't updated fast enough, save it. What did you do for New Years? Bury a family member? I didn't think so.

(Disclaimer: If anyone had to join me in that last one, you have my condolences. I can honestly say I know how awful it is. I've buried three family members so far over the Holiday season. It sucks.)

So, keep your eyes peeled, and someday you will see an actual update.

Dragonkittin


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